


Messes Of Men

by wingless



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bruce Banner Has Issues, Canonical Child Abuse, Character Study, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Oscar Wilde References, Introspection, M/M, Parallels, Past Relationship(s), Self-Hatred, Tony Stark Has Issues, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, tony is apparetly a manic pixie dream girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingless/pseuds/wingless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We all have our monsters, big guy. And personally, I have to say I like yours much better than mine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messes Of Men

**Author's Note:**

> Incorporates all three Iron Man movies, The Incredible Hulk and The Avengers (the 2012 one, in case someone is reading this fic in the far future where the second movie is already out), with also certain elements of the comics. There is some mild retconning/canon divergence done in here, which is something I usually really, _really_ prefer not to do, but it was a bit of a necessary evil for me to write this fic exactly the way I wanted to...

If anything has defined Bruce Banner's life it's violence. Blood and bruises and fists and knives, cuts and scrapes and scars—from light hits in the head and skinned knees to cracked skulls, broken bones, wide round wounds from blades and to cut limbs—beatings and stabbings, destruction and brokenness, crushing and smashing and stomping, cruelty and heartlessness. They all long predate the accident, long predate the other guy. They have been a part of Bruce's life from its very start before he could even understand them and their meaning. They are the legacy his father left behind. Violence is what he was born out of and grew up in, and it follows him—it's in how he spends his high school years getting into fights with bullies and becoming the local punching bag, in how among his first jobs is one for the military to make tools of war, in how the accident that results gives birth to something that spreads more of it everywhere it goes. Violence is Bruce Banner's lifelong companion, and the only one who was present at the start to still survive and remain by his side after all this time. 

The only one except the anger, that is. While the anger came later, a little bit after the violence, it was the only one that has never gone for even a moment. The violence had, temporarily, left, drifted off without truly disappearing, always ready to come back at any moment and never really fooling Bruce into believing it has gone. But the anger, it had never even come close; it's always there, and was always there. The moment it came it latched on into his heart and no matter how deep he pushed, no matter how much he tried to stomp on it and force it down and ignore it, wouldn't budge. It remained, deep at the very bottom of his heart, at the lowest pits of the core, always bubbling and burning and boiling and its steam filling his insides with the a sickening warmth. But it was as stubborn as the heaviest and hardest of stone walls, refusing to come out nor to be pushed back, refusing to move from where it was except once, except one time when he submitted to it and let it take over. Until the accident came and gave it a life, and then unleashed it in the form of a monster.

Bruce Banner's disillusionment came at a very young age. It started so young there was very little to be disillusioned with, but what there was—his mother's protective arms and soothing voice and promises that it'll all be alright, the comfort of his few toys—the violence made sure to take care of.

And so these are the remains of his childhood, of the boy he used to be—the anger that the accident gave a physical form, the violence that follows him everywhere and now he causes with his own hands, the disillusionment and cold, cynical bitterness and perception of humanity, the guilt and self—lame his father instilled in him and the bruises and cracks these things left in his heart. The only part of him to survive unscathed and uncorrupted is his scientist's mind, its quickness, its innocent fascination and love of challenges, puzzles and riddles and anything that could stimulate it, and penchant for creation and invention. _My brain is probably my only good trait_ , Bruce had always said and these days he adds, _and look at how that turned out_.

Strip away all these things and Bruce isn't sure how much of a person remains. It's why when he realizes that Betty Ross likes him, honestly, actually, honest to god likes him and that her showing interest is in fact very much real and has nothing to do with her having really bad sense of humor (a possibility he quickly has to rule out because, well, it's Betty Ross, and Bruce isn't exactly the hero worshiping type but this might just be an exception he's willing to make), it still takes a while to sink in because, well—

"I'm not exactly a prize," he explains to her then. "You'd be much better off taking a chance with... um, almost anyone else, really."

She sighed in a sort of fondly exasperated way. "Oh, Bruce. You're going to have to come up with a better argument to dissuade me than that!" she had told him, cheerfully stubborn, unyielding, and she had kissed him.

She was a headstrong, bright-eyed person full of energy and determination and kindness and love and life and he could not resist her for a moment when she decided she wanted to have him. He didn't want to resist, despite his initial reservations. But throughout their relationship there was always, in spite of how she was kinder to him than anyone for a very long time, somewhere deep down, a lingering doubt, the thought that _one day, she'll see my real self. One day, she'll know that I'm not worth it. One day, eventually, she'll realize she made a mistake, that she's better off not getting involved, that I can only hurt her, eventually, one day._ He has dated before her and it has never ended well, and neither have any of his friendships—people mostly thought he was weird and unsociable off putting and honestly, they weren't really wrong.

It's a very pyrrhic victory to be more or less proven right. 

In the end it's not him who she chooses to bring her the happiness she deserves. But that's what he was expecting. It doesn't make it hurt less, but it's what he was expecting. She explains and breaks it to him gently and he understands perfectly. He'd do the same, she's not wrong in choosing what she believes is better for her on the long run, and he understands. That doesn't make it hurt any less either, but he understands. And he doesn't blame her. Even if Betty doesn't agree with his self-deprecating reasoning and reassures him that there is nothing wrong with him, there is one thing they agree on—that it's for the best for them both. Yes, he understands perfectly well.

(And that only makes it worse. He has no one to direct his rage to, no one to be angry at, no one to blame his hurt on except sheer circumstances and himself for his inability to control how he feels. The rage that you can't show anyone because its irrationality makes you feel ashamed, because you are so disgusted by it and by yourself for feeling it, that you can only let out in private through ugly tears, and then you can only bottle up and let it rot like an unpicked fruit and fester like an uncleaned wound, is the worst kind of rage.)

—

The thing about Bruce is, he sees enemies everywhere. He always had. It's how he learned to live since he was young and how he survived. Trust no one, suspect everyone you see, expect the worst out of everything, cast doubt in every person that comes your way. He hasn't quite forgotten how to trust, but it's not something easy to unlearn. He had almost managed to force himself to abandon the ability to feel hope and isn't too sure what stopped him. A form of self-destruction and a damaging and unhealthy kind of self-conditioning it may be, but there's a fact that Bruce knows for sure: that if he hadn't done all these things, he wouldn't be alive today. And if he had survived somehow without doing them, he'd be even more broken that he is now,

Not exactly the best of prospects for teamwork or relationships or any kind of human connection. It makes the fact that he was ever temporarily in some sort of semi-functioning relationship rather remarkable. But it protects him, and the solitude, the loneliness—he knows it so well, is so accustomed to it that it can no longer hurt him.

So when Bruce remembers through the hazy foggy filter of the other guy's memories Thor's incredibly earnest yell of _We are not your enemies, Banner!_ that tries to calm him, it sincerity warms him just as much as it makes him ache. Because how do you explain, how do you as much as begin to explain to someone that you can't believe that no matter how much you want to, that you can't not see an enemy in everyone you see, that you don't trust them not because there's something wrong with them or that you think lowly of them but simply because you _can't_? That even knowing for certain that you can trust them would never make it go way? That it's something you can only explain using words with an unconvincing _it's not you, it's me_? More than that, it's one thing to explain, another to really make them _understand_ , and even if Bruce was the most eloquent person in the world he wouldn't be able to find the words for that.

—

The last time they see each other, Betty tries to tell him, reassure him that he will find someone some day, that there is no reason they can't be friends, that they can still keep in touch, and that if he really thinks nobody would be willing to take a chance with him he's wrong—after all if she could love him and accept him as he is, there is no reason another person like that can't exist, right? 

The ugliest parts of him that can't help but think the worst of everyone tell him that she's only saying that because she's feeling guilty, to make herself feel better about hurting him by leaving him behind, that she's only saying it to convince herself that she still cares because she isn't willing to admit the truth, that she doesn't mean to do follow through with any of these things, that she never really accepted what he is and that no one can. That thought sneers at him and he is as disgusted with it as he is with himself for allowing it to exist. The part of him that's still in love with her, the hero worshiper he was when he first met her, steps in to defend her fiercely, tries to reassure him of the opposite, but both Bruce and the Hulk know that, as always, the truth lies in the middle.

(Of course, knowing and believing are, as always, two rather different things.)

While they never do contact each other, but that's not because of a lack of trying on Betty's part; Bruce knows how good he is at disappearing into thin air and making himself impossible to find, and to find him would take talent no matter how much resolve you have. It's as painful to be parted from her as it is to think about maintaining a friendship with her, and it overrides his desire to see her and hear her; she is too much of walking reminder of too many things. (Of his own selfishness and how he can only think of his pain and not her pain and what he has done to her is one of them, how he's not thinking first of how staying separate is better for her, how he can dare feel hurt over her leaving when it's only the right thing to do after how he hurt her and damaged her). 

Betty ends up getting a victory of her own too, however, when she is also proven right, so they're even—although it's in the least expected of places.

—

Bruce Banner has heard about Tony Stark—who hasn't? What he hasn't expected is that Tony Stark has also heard about Bruce Banner. Not the highest on the list of unexpected and unlikely things in his life, and at least it makes perfect sense, given how they are both members of the scientific world. No, what's really surprising—what's not quite aliens-and-Norse-gods-in-New York level of unexpected but just leaves Bruce so completely _baffled_ —is how he approaches him. It's how he treats him. The nonchalance, the absolute lack of fear of wariness, how he first sees the fellow scientist, the smidgen of respect in his greeting that his reputation didn't describe him of being capable of. The way he doesn't treat Bruce's other passenger like the elephant in the room and acknowledges him so casually, with a very odd choice of a lighthearted joke that is somehow not really insulting if just odd and leaves Bruce struggling with an answer, the way he shamelessly walks into his life, bursts in and makes himself comfortable in Bruce's presence like it's not a really, really, bad and not at all safe idea.

And how Bruce, in spite of himself, can't quite help being pulled along. Tony Stark is the last person in the world he'd imagine getting along so well with and you'd think being on the run for so long would make his already rusty social skills nonexistent, but instead, for reason he himself can't understand, Tony Stark proves incredibly easy to talk to. And it's so refreshing not to have to make an exhausting effort to socialize and interact, so refreshing for it to be so easy to talk with someone without constantly stumbling over his words as a result of both trying to think before speaking and an taking awkwardly long time to find an answer. There's something so calming about him, something that puts Bruce at an ease and a comfort that he has only found in rare times through his life. And something refreshing about someone who knew him for less than a minute making some almost flirtatious sounding playful comments and drawing out a part of Bruce he himself didn't know still existed when he responds right back.

Kindness is the last thing Bruce would think to associate with Tony Stark, but there's no word other than _kind_ that Bruce can come up with to describe how the man treats him. Maybe not polite and courteous at all and not quite the traditional idea of kindness, but the last person who knew the truth about him to treat him like this has been Betty. And the poking, well, after his initial reaction and the inquisitive, probing squinting look Stark gives him, Bruce is stuck with the realization that he's incredulously amused and not honestly all that irritated at all, and just a little bit endeared. (When Bruce asks, later, "You didn't seriously think that poking me in the stomach with a sharp stick would get me to Hulk out though, did you?", Tony cheerfully replies, "nope!") While it turned out that Tony Stark's public image isn't exactly wrong, Bruce never thought his personality would turn out to be more charming than annoying. The jokes, the snark, the boldness and the incredible ability to take everything lightly and treat it like a joke are refreshing in their own way.

(Actually, Bruce has to add an addendum to that description—the jokes, the snark, the boldness and the incredible ability to take everything lightly and treat it like a joke right up until he doesn't. Until he doesn't quite do a complete 180 but then he starts to talk completely seriously, right at the moment when you need it, and casually discussing some of the most sensitive aspects of his life just while also actually apparently being almost kind of considerate and understanding.)

And it's been quite some time since science has been fun for him like it used to be, and since someone could keep up with him and the speed of his mind. Or since someone has come to his defense—not entirely wisely, even he will admit, but he doesn't know a lot of people who would earnestly say that he has the right to let off some steam—and it's probably the first time anyone has not only believed in him knowing what he is but also didn't fear him at all.

(Betty has accepted him, hadn't rejected him and hadn't seen him as a monster or an abomination, meant it when she said she wanted to still be friends and that she loved him, but she was afraid. He could see it. The Hulk, from the fragments of the memories he had of him, could sense it. That fact hit like a punch in the gut to realize, and yet again, the fact that he could hardly blame her, that it was well within reason for her to fear him, because the danger was very much real, had only made it worse.)

Yet when it comes down to it, all of it is too much. Too refreshing too much of the good kind of baffling and new and different, too much like what he liked about Betty, too much like that rare interlude where his life was good. To good to last, to good to be true, and Bruce knows, deep down, all this time, even as he loses himself in the fun and in their conversations and finds himself smiling and laughing and comfortable, that this doesn't change anything about him. The unease is always there, if faint, the ever present anger is still there. He can forget about it briefly, temporarily, but at the end of the day he is what he is, and he is stuck that way.

Bruce doesn't trust anyone, but Tony Stark is an exception to that. And he doesn't know why, and it's frustrating when he realizes it, that he just trusted him on instinct upon first meeting without even thinking at their very first exchange, that the thought that he really shouldn't was fleeting before he got so comfortable he forgot all about it. It's irrational, and illogical, and he can't understand it, but it's not the scientist in him that's angry, it's the man who survived by isolating himself from the world by treating everyone in it like an inevitable, eventual enemy. The man who was hurt and damaged because exposed his heart to people and let them in, the man who was hurt because he got attached and let himself care. 

The more lenient he is towards himself in allowing himself happiness and joy and the little things he abandoned to survive, the worse it will hurt to lose them; he knows this for sure. So his anger is of a different kind—at himself before anything else for letting his guard down, and it doesn't matter how much he likes this man, how much he thinks he might have found what he's always been looking for, how fun he is to be around and how he loves to exchange jokes and to make each other laugh or anything else. The danger of it ending up in ruin like everything else he valued, is all too real, too big of a risk. He should get away before it's too late. He knows this. 

It's a terrible thing, loneliness, but Bruce is used to it; he is always alone. And no matter what, it's still better than the pain of loss and of betrayal, then the way attachment leaves you wide open and the weak spot it gives you.

—

But how do you explain this to Tony, much less anyone else? Bruce doesn't find the answer to this the first time he considers moving out and going back to life on the road. And life at Stark Tower, after Bruce resignedly accepts Tony's offer and moves in—just for now, until he has a good place to stay permanently, he insists, but Tony practically doesn't hear him—proves very busy, and leaves very little time to sit down and think in silence. 

Bruce gets acquainted with Pepper, who may not take to him as quickly as Tony does but is better at hiding her wariness than most people and makes more effort to take his feelings into consideration than most people do, and proves almost as easy to talk to. He still occasionally senses a very well hidden fear, but appreciates her efforts, and with time it seems to sort of fade. JARVIS astounds Bruce endlessly from the very moment Bruce realizes just how advanced he is to every time he joins in their conversation and proves himself to be a match to them both in dry humor. The robots that serve as their lab assistants take to him as well as Tony did, which does not escape his notice, and Bruce with time manages to get them to be more efficient. To his joke about feeling jealous, Bruce points out that him trying to actually be gentle or patient with them might have something to do with that.

After Bruce's life for the past few years since the accident, Stark Tower feels like something out a movie, like living on an alien planet—the luxury, impeccable cleanness, wide and endless amounts of space, the huge soft beds with spotless clean sheets and seemingly endless food both in supply and variety. But his favorite part of it all is, hands down, working with Tony. His words about the top floor being Candyland prove more than true and Bruce doesn't remember when he last experienced time flying by as quickly as when they spent it working there. Science, and his knowledge of it, has since the accident only been a means to an end- at first, a way to find a cure, then a way to help people. Rediscovering the world that he has loved ever since childhood is like falling in love all over again; he has forgotten how fun it is, how absorbing it is. Without the search of a cure consuming his mind it's like being broken free of shackles on your hands 

Tony gets him newspapers and magazines and books and makes sure to catch him up on everything he has missed in the past years in terms of discovery and developments and the two of them get absorbed into hour long conversations and debates on a variety of topics. They sit together and throw ideas at one another and come up with new projects and talk so quickly they run out of breath without realizing it until their conversations end, and when they actually get to work they come up with more. They finish their days as exhausted as if they spend it running, faces flushed and breathing hard and lungs exhausted from so much talking, hands and arms aching from use. But it's a good sort of exhaustion, and Bruce has never felts so satisfied going to bed and while the nightmares never leave he sleeps better than usual in those days.

There are so many things about it all that he has _missed_ incredibly badly that now feel at once nostalgic and unfamiliar. It doesn't feel like they met such a short time ago-- they manage to become comfortable each other so easily, trading jokes and always knowing what to say and when, and it's as if they had known each other for years. Thus a month passes by but it feels like a day and by the time Bruce is quietly packing his bags after quietly asking JARVIS not to say anything he still hasn't figured out the answer to the question of how to explain.

—

So when he's standing at the door, facing Tony, stumbling over his words as he tries to find them and put them together into a coherent sentence, when Tony asks _why_ his mind just goes blank. Maybe Tony takes pity on him and can tell that he's struggling with finding the right words, because he makes a joke out of it, throwing at him and endless barrage of questions.

"What? Is it the food?"

"No, Tony—"

"Is it JARVIS? You guys not getting along?"

"Oh, no, far from it, you saw—"

"The robots? Unlikely as that is. I know, they drive me nuts too sometimes."

"No—"

"Don't like the lab we work in? Cause we can move. Or I can fix it up."

"Tony—"

"Or do you want a pretty girl in a French maid uniform to do your stuff for you instead ? 'Cause I can arrange that. Don't worry, I won't judge."

Bruce almost laughs at that. "Of course not—"

"I mean, if you're ashamed you don't need to be. Know that even if you were into all sorts of gross and creepy stuff I'd still be your friend."

"That's very reassuring. No, none of that, Tony, I—"

"We could use some redecorating, though, you're right. JARVIS, tell Pepper tha—"

" _Tony_ ," Bruce breathes, a little impatient, a little desperate. "It's not that I'm dissatisfied. Really, not at all. I mean with the places I've stayed in, you think I can be? Come on, look at this," he gestures around them. "It's something out of a fantasy, living here. No, Tony,—"" he presses on, a bit guiltily, before Tony can say anything. "It's not that there's a problem. It's that, well—it's the opposite. There's no problem at all. It's ideal. It's—it's _too_ perfect."

Bruce thinks Tony's about to make a joke, or a snarky comment, and Tony looks like he contemplates it before settling for just saying, "Oh."

"Yeah." Bruce looks downwards. "And, well... it's too much for me." A pause. "I'm sorry, don't take it personally, it's just that I..."

"'It's not you, it's me', right?"

Bruce smiles unhappily. "Yeah, that's what I was going to say."

"I always knew I was a mind reader. Look, Bruce, I'm not trying to guilt trip you or anything, but—"

"That's usually what people say when they're about to guilt trip someone." 

A smile twitches at Tony's mouth. "Hey, even if I tried, you and Steve have the whole sad kicked puppy look mastered in a way I can never compete with. Anyway," his smile fades a little, still present but faint, "Seriously, though, Bruce, I'm just saying, I _am_ going to miss you. It's... well, it's going to be a bit lonely without you." 

"You still have Pepper. And JARVIS and the others and the ones you haven't introduced me to yet—Happy and Rhodes—you're not exactly a hermit." Bruce feel a little uncertain even if he says it. He feels as if there's an unspoken message in those very simple words and just the slightest bit of pleading and he's just not hearing it.

"Oh, of course, and I do get my share of visitors, but it's not like I—" Tony stops himself in mid speech and presses his lips together tightly, like trying to keep something from leaving them. "But anyway, you're not going to, you know, just disappear, though, right? Can't exactly afford that. We are technically part of a superhero team now. Sort of."

Bruce wants to say actually that's exactly what I want to do, to just break the harsh news to him here and there rather than later because it's inevitable anyway. Instead, he says, "Of course."

"Because you're welcome back any time. Seriously, feel free to think of this as your home. While I do want you to stay- of course, that goes without saying— I'm not going to force you or anything, but you should know that if you're leaving because you feel like you're not welcome, or unsafe here, you aren't. Take my word for it." He pats Bruce on the shoulder. "If Ross as much as tries to come after you while you're here, he'll find that he's bitten off way more than he can chew."

At once Bruce finds himself thinking both _thank you so much for understanding you have no idea how much that means to me_ and _you don't understand it's not that simple oh how I wish I really do that you telling me this could make me just believe it and it will solve all my problems and I could finally feel safe and comfortable_. "I have some wrapped up business left to finish up with," he says, which isn't entirely a lie, "So when that's done... We'll see then, I guess. I'll try not to be gone for too long." 

Bruce smiles faintly while feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of lying, of reassuring and giving Tony false hopes out of guilt and because he can't bring himself to say the truth and hopes desperately it doesn't show. He tries not to think about maybe keeping that promise after all and how inviting the idea of doing so is, to ignore the tempting thought that maybe, just maybe he could afford to let down his barriers just this once. 

The things is, maybe that's true. But he wouldn't be alive today if he were weak enough to surrender to temptation every time and he cannot, cannot, _cannot_ afford to be even a little bit weak, not ever again, he swore, no matter what the other guy has to say about poor puny pathetic Banner on that topic.

Tony looks him in the eyes but doesn't seem suspicious. He nods, and a brief awkward silence ensues as Bruce tries to get his feet to move. Tony extends his hand to Bruce and they shake it in silence. "See you around, then," he says levelly. Another silence passes before he says, slowly, "And Bruce?" 

He says it calmly, but slowly and with hesitation, sounding the way Bruce does when he's using a new language for the first time, like he has the words clearly in his mind but is unused to speaking them. "I get it. I can't really say I _understand_ , but being afraid of getting hurt, avoiding attachment and connections to people to protect yourself? I've been there. So I get it. And I don't blame you. Just so you know." 

—

Bruce is back in only a little less than a month as a result of a thought process that was concluded with what's essentially _you know what, fuck it._ Tony welcomes him with a big smile and a greeting of "Welcome home, Bruce," as if it's only natural and immediately obvious.

"You're a terrible influence, you know," Bruce says, feeling warm and light in a way he hasn't for very long, with a smile he can't stop. 

"I know. It's one of my many, _many_ good points."

"Maybe." Bruce says. Then he tacks on, awkwardly and stuttering, before the opportunity to say it passes, "It's good to be back."

"And good to have you back," Tony says, a bit more quietly, then switches back to his normal tone as he practically pulls Bruce in. "Come on, I'll prepare a bubble bath for you. And some decent food for dinner. You like tea, right? You seem like the type. Oh, and, of course, your luggage—we kept your room untouched while you were gone, by the way, and you're welcome."

Unsure of which to react to first, Bruce says the first thing that comes to mind. "You did? I— I mean—thank you."

"You're welcome. Ah, I love saying that. It really makes me feel like everything's right with the world when people thank me, you know?" Bruce laughs and Tony smiles, looking even more self satisfied than usual. There's a warm look in his eye that makes Bruce's heart flutter a little, and when he walks through the doors he's still not quite honestly feeling safe or comfortable, but it's the most safe and comfortable has ever felt for years.

—

His timing was a good one, it seems, because he comes home only a little over a week before Pepper leaves after deciding to change her relationship with Tony back a business partnership. There has been arguing, and fighting, thankfully little violence and then a lot of reconciliation and apologies—according to Tony, anyway. Bruce had only witnessed a very, very small fragment of it all for himself and what he has accidentally overheard isn't much either, and is glad for it—if he had witnessed any of it in person he'd feel extremely uncomfortable around both of them for days after, if only because he'd know he had accidentally been witness to an extremely personal and intimate part of their lives without their consent. Just because it has happened to him so often with other people in reverse, him being the one exposed, doesn't make being on the other end any less uncomfortable. 

But their parting is cordial enough and Tony admits he has been planning on going back to his home in California anyway. 

Bruce, these days, alternates between living at Tony's and at Stark Tower, now owned by Pepper—she is still the CEO of Stark Industries, after all—feeling a bit like a child with divorced parents. He is glad to maintain his friendship with Pepper and to see her and Tony slowly working on healing the wounds in their relationship until it's restored to their old friendship (again, according to Tony) and on occasion he goes on trips outside the States—he may not be on the run anymore, but that's no reason not to continue helping people and offering his services to people who need it. And there are many, many such people out there. Tony, to his credit, doesn't roll his eyes or anything when Bruce explains this to him and does seem to actually understand. 

"You know, that's one of the things I like about you. You're the kind of guy who'd go back to living in the middle of nowhere even though you don't need to just to help people. Takes a very special kind of person."

"I didn't know that goodness is a quality you actually like in people, considering how much you and Steve clashed during New York."

"He's different. He's so... you know. Squeaky-clean-idealistic _American_ about it. It just gives me so much second hand embarrassment to watch him do _anything._ " Tony doesn't mention that it's more than that, that there are also much deeper reasons for it, for why their relationship is still a complicated one even though they get along much better since they first met, but Bruce has already figured out that much from a mix of stray comments and remarks on Tony's part and what he has seen on the Helicarrier. 

"You're giving me too much credit, though. It's the least I can do to make up for all the destruction I cause. I'm not some kind of saint."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not, either."

Bruce is a man of secrets, but Tony, he has realized, even more so—to understand him you need to read between the lines. It makes his openness about the arc reactor in his chest back when they first met very meaningful in hindsight, given how it's something very few people seem to know about. Bruce has quickly figured out that he is a very complicated man under the surface of a brilliant, successful billionaire with a winning smile and a smart mouth, but now he's wondering whether he has as many issues as Bruce does, whether he's much more of a person like Bruce underneath.

He has also learned that Tony broaches the subject of himself just as much as he avoids it. For example—

"Hey, Tony?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want to talk about Pepper?"

—He has done a remarkably successful job of avoiding the subject of his recent separation for quite some time and acting as if it nothing happened at all. 

Tony, sitting behind him as they work is silent, and Bruce isn't sure if he's pretending he's not listening or mulling over his answer, but he lets him take his time and waits. Eventually Tony does speak up. "I don't know. There isn't much to talk about, is there? I already told you how it went over."

"You haven't said a word since then. I just wanted to say, well, if you want to talk about it, you could. I'm here, and all that."

"Hmmm." The silence resumes, broken only by the sound of both their tools tinkering away at their respective projects. "Well, I'm not sure what to say. I guess I was pretty steamed about it all at first, but I'm alright with it now. I mean, we're still friends, just like we used to be, and it's not like she was my girlfriend for all that long. So it took me a while to come to terms with it, but I'm cool with it now. Besides, I get why she did it. I mean, if she doesn't want to be the girlfriend of one of the most danger-prone people on the planet, I can hardly blame her."

"And that makes you feel better?"

Tony doesn't answer. He's been hesitating on his replies this entire conversation, but then he simply blurts out, "Hey, Bruce, have you ever been with someone, yourself? I mean, I'm sure you did, but that's just pretense, I'm only putting my question that way to ask you about it."

The sudden question startles him, but Bruce answers anyway. "...I've dated a few times in high school. Not for long. I'm not even sure how these times happened, since I wasn't exactly... popular. With good reason, to be honest. It's kind of a miracle anyone agreed to go out with me at all."

"Oh, come on, don't say that. Personally, I think the fact that you didn't have the entire school lining up to get to bed with you can only mean that there was something seriously wrong with the people there."

Bruce laughs dryly. "You wouldn't say that if you knew me then." 

"I _wish_ I knew you then. I mean, if you were even half as hot and smart as you are now, I can assure you I would be on that like—like—my pick up lines are failing me right now, but just now that it would be really fast. Speed of light fast. No, I would make the speed of light look like the pace of a snail with how fast I'd be on you."

Bruce snorts to himself. _A nerdy, unsociable, weird kid who repeatedly gets himself beaten up trying to pass off as all macho and spends his school days either scribbling in his notebook or talking to his angry imaginary friend. Yeah, I was a real catch. The quintessential boyfriend material._ That thought distracts him enough that the fact that Tony just sort of probably maybe flirted with him doesn't occur to him for a moment. When it does he freezes in place and looks up and replays Tony's words in his head a few times before confirming that he did, in fact, hear them correctly. Then he says, slowly, "Considering how long it took you to as much as make a pass at me until now, I kind of wonder about that."

"Well, I didn't have a girlfriend back then to stop me from doing it. Probably. I think I may have and didn't know it? I can't remember. But that brings me back to my question."

"Right. Um, other than those unsuccessful attempts, I only had one long term relationship. We met in college. We worked together. When I was working for the army, we were on the project together." Bruce gulps. "Betty, her name was." He considers leaving it there, but might as well get it out. "Betty Ross."

Tony knows all about her father and his relation to Bruce, of course. So he responds with " _Ah_." like he understands everything all at once right there.

"She was there during the accident, when the other guy first came out. Haven't seen her in years since then until... before Harlem. We met again then, and we were together again a short time, we tried to find a cure. And you know how that ended." Bruce shrugs.

"Is she...?"

"I didn't see her again after that, but I heard she's married now. Kind of the same story as with you and Pepper. She didn't want to be in the position that being my girlfriend puts her in, and I don't blame her, considering how the other guy has already hurt her. One of the first things he did, in fact. Honestly, it was the smartest thing she could do, finding someone else and getting the hell away from me."

"And did knowing that make _you_ feel better?" Tony says, and Bruce is taken aback by the sheer _honesty_ with which he asks it. 

When he doesn't reply, Tony continues. "I mean, I get it, Pepper made the decision that was right for both of us, it's nothing to be mad about, I don't blame her, I understand and respect that and— and I thought that would make me feel better about it too, see. I though it can't be worse than not understanding and always questioning and just being angry... but it doesn't, and I just can't figure out whether that's how I'm supposed to feel about it and what that means."

And Bruce understands what Tony's asking.

They are two people of cold logic, of simple equations and mechanisms; and so utterly unequipped to understand people and human hearts, their own included. People cannot be picked apart too see how they work and function and what they're made of and then safely put back together; people are not simple collections of parts. The world of emotion and human behavior, so inexplicable and wild and unpredictable and intense and impossible to ever truly understand, is baffling to everyone, but to people like them who are used to being able to see and understand the inner workings of everything around them, most of all. 

Even knowing this they keep trying to understand their own feelings the same way they try to understand equations and machines; they look for patterns, try to figure out how they are supposed to function and what is normal and why. It's a vulnerability to them both. It's why the question Tony is so hung up over is _is it normal, reacting like this, or am I a malfunctioning machine?_ It's not something Tony would admit to just anyone. Bruce wishes he could say something to comfort or reassure him, but that has never really been his forte. He doesn't regret asking Tony to talk to him for a moment, though. 

"I don't know how you're _supposed_ to feel about it either." Bruce says slowly. "But... for what it's worth, no, it didn't make me feel any better either. In fact," And it's so odd to hear those words being said out loud after he kept them in for so long, actually, "It just made me feel worse about it., And it made me..." And then he can feel it, the ever present rage, stirring and growling, making him grip his fists tightly and his voice shake, "It made me much angrier about it."

"Alright." It seems that was the right thing to say, from the very faint relief in Tony's voice. 

"Hey, Bruce? Do you still think about her?"

"...Every day."

Bruce still isn't sure whether that's a good thing or not.

—

Sometimes all you need to hear is that you're not alone. 

It's what Tony tried to express to Bruce, that he gets it, that they may not be the same but he gets it, that he knows a little about what it's like; that he's not the only one out there with this thing that's a gift as much of a curse, a privilege but a terrible one. 

This thing, it sets them apart from others, not above nor below, but means they live in a different world than the people around them and even those they love, it gives them power and helps them and protects them but at a price among which is alienation—and they have never been entirely average people in the first place. It is a part of them and who they are, like an organ, like their lungs and hearts and brains, as irremovable, as much a part of their cores.

It means that there will always be a distance between them and the people of the other world that the most sincere love can't overcome. It's what makes them both so solitary, what makes all the Avengers so solitary— other people who live in their world aren't easy to find. It's what makes their newly find team so vital and why they manage to become one in the end after all. 

It's what draws Natasha to Clint and why they trust each other like no one else, and it's probably what drew Tony to Bruce when they first met, what made him see him so differently than the others—that in this world he met someone so much like himself. In Bruce, Tony sees his own struggle with duality, the hero Iron Man and the careless, self-absorbed Merchant of Death, his own wrestle with the consequences of ambition and his own passion for what's as much of a hobby from childhood as a major pursuit. In Bruce, Tony sees what he lacks. Bruce may not have Tony's success, but in exchange he has gained something Tony still has a long way to go before he reaches— the complete self-restraint and self-control that his life forced him to develop.

—

Bruce said he has moved on since he put a bullet in his mouth, and it was not a lie. It wasn't the only time he tried, but the realization that he can't even free himself through death, that he went all this way seeking an escape from the nightmare his life turned into only to find a dead end plunged him into the deepest and lowest despair a person could possibly be in. But he couldn't stay in there forever, couldn't just sit there and suffer endlessly about his lack of an exit, and with the realization that from now on the only place he could go is up, he went back to living.

He still thinks about it, though. Even knowing how pointless and fruitless it all is sometimes he find himself thinking about buying the pills for it when he's shopping, about jumping off when he's standing at high places, about tricking the Hulk, somehow, into not appearing to protect him during the vital moment, about throwing himself headfirst into danger so quickly the other guy won't have time to react. About whether there's a way he could deprive himself of oxygen, like drowning, about whether there's things the Hulk's endurance and abilities don't cover, a way to trick his own body into letting him die. 

But he has a responsibility now, and for once belongs to more than just himself, and there is more than one person in the world now who would be affected by it, so nothing ever comes of it. It's a restraint of a sorts, but he prefers these kind of chains over real ones. Bruce doesn't know if Tony is aware that sometimes he hangs out at the balcony at night and whether he's aware what's going through his mind as he stares down, but hopes desperately he doesn't; he's not sure how to explain that he still thinks about it, even after all this time.

Until one evening Tony catches him just a few steps away from standing off the edge. Not intending to jump at all, as always, but the thought is there in between the feeling of the wind of his face and in his hair, the nighttime air and the sounds of the busy city, thinking about how odd it feels to be back in this world. Tony doesn't show any surprise as he approaches and asks him, "Nice scenery, huh?" And Bruce just nods. 

It seems to Bruce that Tony, from the expression on his face, doesn't exactly _know_ what he's thinking but he does somewhat suspect. He's expecting him to say something, to stop him, but instead Tony pats him on the shoulder and says, "Well, dinner's ready, and you haven't eaten all day, so I suggest you come by the kitchen. And after that we should get back to work."

"You suggest? That's it? No dragging me and forcing me to eat like a mother hen anymore?"

Tony smiles. Making that expression appear on his face is one of Bruce's favorite things to do. "Don't worry, I haven't abandoned Operation Fix Bruce Banner's Eating Habits. I'll get you to eat a half decent meal at least once a day eventually, you'll see."

"How manipulative."

"Oh, I know. It's a side of effect of being so smart. We know what everyone's going to do. It's why we often become scheming evil masterminds who manipulate everyone from the shadows. The dark side is exceptionally tempting to us. Hmm, come to think of it, that lifestyle does have a certain allure, doesn't it?" He tilts his head in an exaggerated thoughtful expression. "Shit, Bruce, the dark side is looking more and more appealing with every moment. I think I'm being tempted. You gotta save me."

Bruce laughs, "Um, I'll pass. I don't think I have anything to worry about."

"You trust me not to go over to give in to temptation? Now _that's_ an ego booster. You sure that's wise, though?"

"Look who's talking." Bruce looks downwards, takes in the scenery, thinks about that night in Harlem, how for a moment it seemed like he miscalculated and it was going to all end after all and at the relief he felt for just a moment and how ashamed he was of it in hindsight. "Most people wouldn't trust me not to snap and kill everyone in the room at any moment after knowing me for less than an hour, either." He feels a little ashamed of himself when it comes out in a much darker tone then he intended it to.

"I'm not most people, thankfully."

"Neither am I."

"Then I guess we're both lucky, huh? I wouldn't want you to be most people." Tony pauses, and says a bit more seriously. "For the record, you haven't done anything but prove worthy of my trust since then." Then he goes right back to his normal tone. "See you inside when you get tired of the view. I know I did a while ago."

Bruce watches over his shoulder as Tony goes back inside. It occurs to him that if Tony does suspect he doesn't worry that Bruce might actually jump off at all.

—

Tony wonders, though, if their conversation has been occupying Bruce's mind just as much as it had Tony's. They had gone on as normal, as if it hadn't happened, but its shadows and traces hang around them like the elephant in the room in a way none of their conversations do. Or maybe that's just how Tony feels. He wants to ignore them until he goes away, but he learned a few things about dealing with these discomforts in relationships and has since then believed that you can only deal with the elephant in the room by bringing it up and discussing it, so to speak. By confronting it. Thankfully, elephants are much more terrifying than any of the things they're used as metaphors for. This, of course, is not to imply that elephants are scary, even if they are kinda big.

The problem is that this is leading into another serious conversation. And those make Tony uncomfortable. And he has no idea how to begin them. It was easy when he first brought up the arc reactor to discuss Bruce's accident in the Helicarrier while they were working, but all that smoothness goes out of the window when he has a conversation that's much more focused on him. And as much as Tony likes talking about himself, there are certain subjects related to that that he really rather avoid. Serious ones, in particular. Talking seriously just isn't good for his health. He has to do it in small doses or he feels a deep discomfort to the very bottom of his heart and soul.

But again, confronting the elephant in the room and all that. So a week later they're working in the lab like always when Tony says, "Look. I want to, uh, talk about that conversation we had. On the balcony, I mean. A week ago. Can I ask you something?"

Bruce turns his head to him and nods. 

"You really trust me that much?"

"What? You mean, not to turn over to the dark side and submit to the temptation of becoming an evil mastermind?" Bruce adjusts his posture so that his entire body is turned towards Tony rather than just his head and in the process his expression goes from smiling to startled and mildly embarrassed. "Wait, don't tell me that I misunderstood and we weren't just joking around and that was a serious conversation?"

Man, that's cute, though. Tony can't help laughing. "No! No. I'm just wondering, you see— you know me. You know my reputation. Sure, the press has exaggerated it a bit, but the fact is that I'm not exactly known for self-discipline or being really good at resisting temptation."

Bruce doesn't look at all concerned with the topic. He thinks about it briefly, then shrugs. "I think you're smart enough to know that it's not a good idea. I mean, you're technically a superhero. I think if anyone would know that becoming a villain is a stupid idea that's only ever going to get you defeated in a humiliating way every time you do anything, it's you."

"Oh come _on_ , Brucey. Deflecting the question by making light of the subject is _my_ thing. Not yours. No stealing."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. You must be rubbing off on me."

"Oh, I would love to, for your information, I would _love_ to, very much, but sadly, I haven't."

"See, there's you resisting temptation right there."

Tony wags a finger. "You're still deflecting the question."

"But you were the one who stared talking about—ugh." He sighs. "I'm not. It's just that, well, it's never been a worry for me. I don't think you'd let yourself fall like that." And then his expression turns into a cynical smile. "Unlike me."

"You should've seen me a few years ago. Look, you know that I'm not some kind of paragon of virtue, Bruce. Far from it. They used to call me The Merchant Of Death, remember? Some still do. I made weapons. I made things people used to attack innocent people. I know you didn't mention it and I appreciate that, but I know people used my weapons to hunt after you, too. I wouldn't be surprised if you still resent that."

Bruce presses his lips tightly together. and looks down. "You do, don't you? You can say it." Tony tries to sound reassuring.

"...I used to, just a bit." Bruce says shamefully, and why is he ashamed of that, Tony doesn't really understand. He doesn't remember the last time anyone hesitated to say something to criticize him, which is how it should be. Tony is hardly oblivious to how he could really use being knocked down a peg or two on occasion. "Right up until the moment I actually met you. But you've changed since then."

"After Afghanistan, yeah. It took that kind of experience, I mean, actually seeing and feeling a bit of what I've been doing for myself, to actually realize the extent of what I've done. And I only experienced a fragment of all of it, you know, and already it was more than I could handle. If it hadn't happened? If I hadn't felt a bit for myself what it's like to be knocked off my throne? I'd go on with my life not knowing and not caring that things I made and created allowed for people to do..." He thinks to the child he saved during his first days as Iron Man, clinging to his father and crying. "...Well, pretty awful things."

Bruce shook his head. "It's still no small thing to just up and decide to completely change yourself. You could have suppressed all those feelings that made you take this decision, convinced yourself that you don't have to—I'm willing to bet the temptation was there. It would have been easier. To admit you've been doing something wrong for a very long time, to see your mistakes and failures as much as your successes... " 

"Alright, I'll give you that, only because I love it when you praise me. But you don't think that I instantly became a different person overnight, do you? It took a lot of trial and error and making plenty of more stupid mistakes big messes to really change. I still don't feel like I've really gotten where I should be."

"But you made the effort even though it would have been easier not to." Bruce looks down. "Look at me. I've been paying for my own arrogance for years and I still haven't managed to change myself for the better. You know, you keep saying things like that about yourself, and here I'm the one who needs to listen to you about not bringing myself down."

"Because you spend too much time doing that. You're not a guy who's so confident in himself and aware of of his own awesomeness that people accuse him of being a narcissist. Have at least a little confidence! You deserve to! I mean, _I_ like you—that's already the confidence booster to end all confidence boosters, isn't it? You're brilliant, you've got this ridiculously big heart, you've put up with so much shit in your life without letting it get to you, you have impeccable taste in handsome billionaires—I can go on and on about your good qualities for years! Come on, there's no reason not to like you!"

Bruce smiles bitterly. "If only it were that easy to just start believing that." 

He says it with such raw emotion that Tony can't continue to talk with his usual nonchalance. "I know." He smiles with a bit more mellow tenderness than he usually does, and the honesty in his own voice surprises him. "You don't just get over these issues in one day, I know." Bruce's expression is startled. Tony from now on decided to have a place in his schedule for a day of talking seriously. He's going to have to get used to doing that, but having a place in his schedule for it will mean he will always be prepared for the discomforting experience beforehand. The first Tuesday of every month, from four to seven. That seems like a good time. "But it's not impossible, yeah?"

Bruce is looking downwards, not replying. Tony says, "You know, I think you have changed. You think I didn't notice how much self-control you have? And the handle you have over your big green fellow? I saw it from the start. It must have taken a hell lot of training to achieve. You're way beyond me in that regard."

Bruce has a vacant expression on his face but a haunted look in his eyes, that look where it seems that Bruce is thinking a billion thoughts at once and suppressing them all at the same time. Tony sits down next to him. Right now he is unreachable, closed off, but that's alright with Tony. It's a coping method he can recognize and during these times all he can do is reach out as far as he can in a way that Bruce will truly recognize and register only much later, with time. 

"Look, my point of all this is—we all have our monsters, big guy. And personally, I have to say I like yours much better than mine."

—

Tony doesn't show it, but what Steve Rogers had told him hit a little harder than he showed. Only in hindsight, only later, when he's looking at the mirror and thinking, yeah, good point, what do you get when you take off the big suit of armor?

That's around when the nightmares and panic attacks really begin.

It's not that the thought is what induced them, but what that thought did do is tend to make them worse. New York made him realize, in hindsight, how little everything he's spent his life building up for means. Playboy, genius, billionaire, philanthropist—all his money and his work and his fame crumble like dust in the eyes of the rest of the big, wide universe. All these things made no difference when he really needed it. He had so much backing him up when he faced the wormhole, but none of it is what saved him, none of it changed the fact that he was only a second away from dying in one of the worst ways imaginable, and the chance that it could have ended that way was very, very rea;. In the end reasons he didn't die right there are only pure luck and one little green man.

—

"No offence, Bruce. You know what I mean." He adds when talking about this to Bruce, explained in perhaps less dramatic terms. It's been quite some time since the incident during Christmas and what surrounded it, during most of which Bruce was away on business (and partly because he admitted he really prefers to get away from the world during Christmas, which isn't the most pleasant of times for him personally) and he decided to open up and finally talk about it all, and after their somewhat unlucky first "session" they decided to sit down and try again. This time, Tony figured, it might make be for the best if he talks less about the specific events that happened and more about—

_Ugh_. 

More about his _feelings._

He almost wishes that Bruce would ask him to talk about his mother. 

Although that has the potential for a serious conversation too and man, Tony is _so_ not up for this shit. It's not even the first Tuesday of the month!

Bruce shakes his head and Tony figures it's in a 'No, it's fine' sort of way. He's been quiet enough for most of the past twenty minutes that Tony started to think he has fallen asleep again, but he's been looking at him every moment to make sure and so far he has shown no sign. 

"Though I don't think it made absolutely no difference."

"You don't have to try to make me feel better, Bruce."

"No, really. I mean, you know how you keep reminding me of how the other guy... how I saved you?"

"Yeah, when caught me like a princess in from a tall tower. Like you were my knight in shining armor. It was very romantic."

"Tony, right now we're not doing your whole—" Bruce waves his hands around in a gesture that doesn't look like anything in particular. "'Hide my true feelings by deflecting the question with jokes' thing."

"Who said it was a joke? You _were_ like a knight in shining armor. And it _was_ very romantic. I'd make a _great_ Disney Princess, and you _know_ it."

" _Tony_."

"Alright, alright, fine. So, you were saying?"

"When he saved you, the reason he did that. And the reason I came back in the first place, for that matter. It was because of something Tony Stark did. Not Iron Man." Bruce shrug as if trying to pass it off as nothing. "That's what I'm trying to say. I know it's a small thing, but..."

Tony stares at him, very, very hard like he has no idea what he's talking about, although deep down he's pretty sure he can venture a guess. "Something Tony Stark did, huh?"

Bruce smile is small and mildly embarrassed but very, very genuine. "I never told you, but I really appreciated it. Appreciate it, I mean, I still do, and it seems the other guy also appreciated it too. That you were... kind to me. Or to us, I guess. And that you believed in me. It's been some time since—since anyone has ever..."

Tony groans and tries to suppress his mile. "Bruce, you're really sweet, you really are, but this is getting way too mushy for me, and please, please don't spread this around, okay? I have a reputation to maintain, you know."

"Oh, of course. I wouldn't dream of exposing such sensitive, incriminating information."

"I can just imagine it! People will start talking about me being nice to sad, scruffy, handsome scientists and their angry giant green alter egos, and then sooner or later it'll inevitably escalate into rumors about me helping little old ladies across the street and saving kittens from trees and I'm going to be _ruined_ , Bruce. _Ruined_. Nobody will think I'm cool anymore."

"Your deep dark secret's safe with me."

"Good. I know if I can trust anyone with the power to destroy my reputation, it's you."

"Well, it's not like I'll get much use out of that kind of power anyway."

"So you only care about keeping it a secret because you can't get much use out of exposing it, eh? Now that's low, Brucey, that's low. In fact, so low that I'm going to cry from how proud I am of you right now."

And the two of them smile at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Anyway, what was I saying—oh, right. I don't know whether he knew because he could sense it by instinct or because it's a memory he shared with me, but I think that's why he saved you, so the person you are outside the suit—it didn't totally make no difference, right? Thanks to that you're alive."

"Mhmm." Tony might sound reluctant, but in truth he just doesn't know how to respond and Jesus Christ he is so so so bad at this. "I kind of wish thought of that before, now."

"You know it wouldn't have helped with the panic attacks."

"True. But it would have been a bit easier to deal with the other stuff, maybe." He sighs and lays against his chair. "Of course, it's all pointless to speculate these kinds of maybes and what ifs, isn't it? Fact is that I found the answer I needed and how soon I managed to get there doesn't really make that much of a difference."

"That's something you're better of avoiding, yeah. It usually makes things worse."

"Sure does. Hey, can we end it here? All these feelings are making me feel a little sick. Oh no, Doctor, I think I've overdosed on serious conversation, what should I do? Is there a medicine for this?" 

Bruce is shaking his head and laughing as he stands up, and every time he reacts like that the only way Tony can react in is to press further, to get his smile and his laughter to last longer; there are few things that Tony loves as much as making his face brighten up that way. "There should be. I always knew this is unhealthy for me. I need your diagnosis, Doctor. Feel free to put me on a table and thoroughly examine me any time you want, Doctor, I welcome it."

—

There aren't a lot of topics they disagree on consistently, but The Hulk is one of them, the major one. Bruce still has a long way to go before he truly, fully accepts his alter ego for what he is, but Tony can tell that he's on his way, that it's going to take some time but he's already made progress. Their discussions on the topic rarely end with agreements, Tony always pushing Bruce to look at his other self differently, and Bruce disagreeing, but ever since the first time this discussion occurred when they first met, Tony has always been consistent on one belief—that all he needs to do is make his point, explain it clearly, and let Bruce make of it what he will, leave it to him and trust him to think on it and take it into consideration.

"He's not a monster, Bruce," Was one of the most difficult points to argue. It was one of their longest discussions, and grown a bit more heated than normal, Tony repeating his point several times because it was, for some reason, at that time, particularly important for him to make sure that it sinks in.

"Not a monster? How can you of all people say that? You're not blind—what do you call someone who does what he does? Who has as much blood on his hands as he does? You've seen the news reports, the footage, what he has done." 

"Yes, I have. I made sure to find out as much as I could about the incidents, from you included. And every time he has been provoked. He has done it in response. He acted monstrously because he was treated as a monster. If you refuse to see him as anything as a one, of course that's what he'll act like! But— but! Bruce. He stops being a monster when he's not treated like one. You yourself said it! The reason he saved me! Because he's just like every other person, Bruce, heresponds to kindness with kindness, he gives what he gets! And it's most important of all that _you_ don't treat him as monster! Because he is a person just like we all are, he is and can be something other than what everyone sees him as!"

Tony regrets raising his voice without thinking the moment he finishes and an awkward silence settles in. "Didn't mean to go on a tangent, sorry, but— it's important that you understand."

"Why's that?" Bruce says quietly. "Why is it so important to you?"

Tony rolls his eyes. "We're friends, remember?"

—

Honestly, Tony's not sure himself either.

Odd as it seems to many people, Tony trusted Bruce since the day they met without a second thought. It's not the wisest thing to do, especially for Tony, considering how he has already been betrayed, but if to be unconditionally believed in and trusted is what Bruce needs, it's what Tony will give him. Sure, logically, even without Bruce's reputation he would have had to be a bit more careful, but—nah. He doesn't want to walk around eggshells around Bruce like the others do no matter how reasonable it might technically be. He can't stand to see the way Bruce responds to people fearing and doubting him with a sardonic smile like he has given up on doing anything about it, how he moves through life expecting a knife at his back at every moment. He sees how much damage Bruce carries and for someone reason he can't bring himself not to try do something to help him. 

Tony doesn't try to convince himself that he's any kind of exceptionally considerate, selfless and kind person even at his most altruistic moments, but for Bruce he goes out of his way to be a better man, just to be good for him. He probably can't fix him, he's not a therapist or a shrink and people aren't his specialty. But he tries to do at the very least what he can. And he's not too sure where it comes from, really. Why he's so invested in his private "Be A Good Friend To Bruce Banner And Go Out Of My Way To Be Decent to him Because He Needs It" project baffles even him. It has started before they were even friends, after all— although admittedly with how quickly they hit off their friendship might as well have begun since the very moment they looked at each other. 

On the other hand their developing closeness has definitely encouraged Tony to pursue this goal furthers. Just as much as the thought that maybe, just maybe, his feelings might be developing in the direction of—

Uh oh.

Oh, no. Oh, shit. He might, maybe, just a little bit, possibly, be on his way to falling in...

He can''t bring himself to even _think_ that word.

—

See, it's not like Tony is a kindergartner who's afraid of cooties or anything, but it just that... you know. Feelings. Gross. Bringing up the topic that you may or may not slowly be falling in love with him to one of your best friends? Yeah, awkward. Plus there's the whole business of ruining your friendship and all, but Tony has enough on his plate with the realization already.

The confession itself, however, happens as an accident. Of sorts. Tony knows there are couples who fell in love without quite really noticing, who were close and comfortable with each other for a very long time and that relationship progresses into love naturally and on its own, without either of them quite noticing. He and Pepper have been that kind of couple, in a way. He didn't expect his next relationship to be that sort as well, but he wasn't really expecting to be in a relationship at all.

It's sort of anticlimactic, really; an average night like every other when they're working in the lab and then, Tony says, right in the middle of their conversation, automatically, without even thinking about it, "Love you, Bruce" like it's just a passing comment, like he says it to him all the time and this is part of the routine.

And before Tony realizes what he's just said, Bruce responds with an absent-minded, automatic, "Love you too." in a very similar manner.

A minute passes. And then another, and another, and the lab is silent aside of Tony's humming, when it hits him, and he turns to Bruce with a wide-eyed look.

"Did we just—"

"I think we did." Bruce makes the exact same expression. A silence again.

"Huh," says Tony. "Well, that was completely undramatic."

Bruce laughs, "Of _course_ you'd say that."

And the truth is that from then on nothing much changes.

They sleep in the same bed now, of course, and Tony's flirting has greatly increased now that it's become serious; so have his half-joking gestures of affection and silly nicknames. They're steadily showing each other physical affection more and more often— it's something Bruce needs time to get used it, and Tony's patience on the subject, with his reputation in mind, has been something to behold. (Although he insisted to, in his words, "someday find a way to work around on Bruce's problem with his big angry gamma radiated cockblock" if Bruce is ever interested in going in that direction, explaining that they're Tony Stark and Bruce Banner and there is no way anything in the universe or the other universes can stop them.) 

But all in all their life goes on much like the usual, and Bruce finds that there's a bit of comfort in that thought; that in a life full of drastic changes and ups and down there is some sort of steadiness and stability, once in a while. 

And it's a relief that Tony doesn't expect all their problems to go away, for this thing between them, whether it's love or something else, to instantly change him. That Tony doesn't expect him to be an ideal partner, to be perfect. He spelled this out to him in no uncertain terms, making it as explicit as he could, early on in their relationship. That he understands logically is already a bit of a relief, even if it does nothing to make his insecurities and worries go away. What it does mean that there is at least one small part of him dimly aware that there's a chance he found someone willing to accept him no matter what, someone who might actually like him. A small part of him, a hushed thought at the end of the day, but it keeps him going, reassures him when he needs it that there's a chance. A chance, and it's a risk to take that chance, a risk to get his hopes up once again, but there is no risk he's willing to take as much as this. In for a penny, in for a pound, after all.

—

Between the two of them it's Bruce who's usually up first; sometimes they wake up at around the same time, sometimes Tony earlier, but Tony has gotten used to waking up alone in his bed to the smell of coffee brewing or sometimes to just finding Bruce in the living room or kitchen. There isn't much consistency in it, but it isn't until one time when Tony wakes up near the middle of the night and Bruce isn't there that he starts to wonder whether there's a specific reason why it's so often that Bruce is up first.

Tony is already a light sleeper, and so finding himself waking up in the middle of the night and finding himself with insomnia for no reason is normal for him. So while he wakes up enough times to observe that Bruce isn't always missing, it takes him a while to put to the pieces together, a few incidents of waking up to Bruce's absence a few to his presence to figure out. It's by the fourth or fifth time that he first decides to look for him, which proves more difficult then expected. Maybe it's because of the late hour, maybe because Bruce is so good at staying unnoticed even by all the tracking tech Tony has equipped in his home, maybe Bruce needs his privacy that much. 

The next time it happens, he finds him upstairs on the highest floor, spots him from a distance, sitting alone in the middle of the darkness, turned away from him. It's a familiar sight, and if Bruce's emotional state is anything like what Tony's was when he did it in his time, then Tony figures he might use the company. Even without seeing his face, he can see Bruce's entire body shaking, hear the muffled and quiet but recognizable enough crying, and Bruce sounds like he's trying to hide his sounds from his own ears. He approaches and finds Bruce like this, and taps him gently on the shoulders. Bruce seems entirely unsurprised, barely reacting, and turns to look at Tony for the slightest moment, face flushed eyes heavy, before he looks back away.

If Bruce wanted to talk about it, Tony figures he would tell him; pushing can be necessary, but this isn't one of those times. Tony instead gently moves Bruce a little closer towards him and wraps his arms tightly around him in a hug. In his arms, Bruce feels stiff, full of discomfort, face buried in his hands and muffling the choked, wheezy noises of his sobs; but Tony holds him. He holds him for, he doesn't know how long, until Bruce quiets down, and relaxes, slowly and hesitantly and with initial reluctance, but he relaxes, still not willing to look at Tony but willing to bury his head in his shoulder and the discomfort slowly draining out of his posture. Tony hugs tighter and listens to the sound of both their breathing. 

He keeps him there, moving only to adjust their position to be more comfortable, to press a kiss to the top of his head, and keeps holding him even when the sun starts to rise and they haven't slept a wink at night and Bruce starts to fall asleep slowly. And even when Tony himself begins to drift off, his last memory of lying down with Bruce still in his arms. 

It's not the ideal position for sleeping, especially given they're both on the floor, but since when was Tony Stark good at taking care of his own health anyway? They wake up both mildly uncomfortable, Tony helping Bruce up and Bruce's expression turning shameful as the sleepiness drains from his eyes and he recalls how they fell asleep.

"Sorry about last night." He says timidly, looking downwards. Tony waves a hand.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm ready to stay up with you all night if you need it. Which may not mean as much coming from me, but there you go." Bruce's unconvinced expression is then interrupted by a yawn. "Still sleepy, huh? Want to catch up on the sleep you missed."

"Is that okay?"

"Of course! Look at me, actually encouraging another person to get healthy amounts of sleep. I should take my own advice."

"Yes, there are a lot of times where you could really use to do that."

"And look at you, making passive-aggressive comments on my account. Come on, honey bunny, let's get to bed." 

—

When Bruce confesses everything he's been keeping down for months, all his doubts and secrets, is when they're having drinks one calm evening, when he just had a glass of wine, maybe a half glass in addition, not nearly enough to get him drunk but enough to relax him just a little bit and to blurt out, "You know, the other guy didn't actually appear since the accident."

"Really?" Tony hasn't had much to drink either, only a little flask of—something, Bruce wasn't really looking. Bruce rubs at his nose.

"No, hold on, I didn't word that correctly. What I mean to say is, he was there before. He was always there." Bruce stares at his half-finished second glass to avoid meeting Tony's eyes. "I don't know how long. Maybe since I was a kid. Maybe since I first knew what it's like to be angry. He was always there, whenever I got angry and just suppressed it. I...got angry a lot during my life. And suppressed it a lot."

"See, that's what I've been saying all along about him. He's you."

"I guess he is. You know, I once had an imaginary friend who would sort of... get angry in my place when I couldn't. I wonder now if that was him too."

"Might be. You get it, right? He's all the parts of you that you suppress. The part of your psyche that's all your basic instincts and desires, your Id, I mean psychology isn't exactly either of our areas but that's what I've been saying. And no wonder the green guy and I both always liked each other, eh? That was the first sign about how you and I feel about each other, actually. I can't believe we missed that." 

Bruce only half smiles, not quite finding it in him to get into Tony's lighthearted mood and feeling a bit guilty for it. Tony seems to notice, as his tone switches to serious when he continues. "Anyway, that's why he's not a monster. Calling him that would be calling yourself the same thing."

"Maybe because I am." Bruce blurts out. "Maybe... maybe he's a reflection of who I really am. Maybe my old man was right after all."

"That's not true, Bruce. And I'm going to keep telling you that over and over until you believe it."

"You know, that's why I was able to learn how to control him at all. I've had it all this time, it's just that he didn't have a physical form before, so when he took a different shape I had to relearn it. To readjust. All those people dead, all that damage and destruction I caused. Just because I had to take time to learn it." He's not sure why he's saying this all out loud, whether it's the wine or because now that he's started he can't stop, normally he'd keep this all to himself, to his thoughts. 

"He was put in a position where he had to fight back. All these times. He reacted to being attacked. I fought with him more than once. We both saw the footage of the battle in New York. He's not a mindless being of destruction. You know that. He's a being of instinct, and his first reaction to dealing with a problem is to use his fists, but that doesn't mean he can't think or reason or that he only ever acts out of malice. It's proof enough that he and I actually manage to get along."

 _He's right, though._ Maybe it really is the wine speaking when Bruce thinks that he can finally admit that it's true. Maybe he's just a bit tired of mentally fighting him, of struggling with him, because he deep down is aware that Tony has a point but has self-punished and beat himself up over everything that happens to him or that he does for so long, he doesn't know how to get out of the habit; it's too much a part of who he is now, just like the Hulk. 

"...You might have a point." 

"Of course I do. I'm always right."

"And now I've gone and messed up what you wanted to be a fun evening completely, didn't I?" Bruce shakes his head. 

"Don't sweat it. Talking to you about this is the least I can do when you're willing to play along with my therapy sessions."

Bruce barely registers what Tony's saying, too deep in his thoughts, staring forlorn into his drink. "God, Tony, look at me. I'm a complete fuck up of a human being, aren't I? Why do you even like me?"

"Because you put up with my bullshit and manage to tolerate me without always wanting to punch me in the face. Not a lot of people can honestly say that about themselves. Because you're smart but not just smart, you're actually equal to me on an intellectual level. Because I never really had a lot of friends who could do that and who love science as much as I do, and who'd have as much fun doing the stuff we do. Cause your brain is one of the most amazing things I've ever witnessed in my life. Cause you're cute as hell, and really nice, and have a good sense of humor, and you make me want to scribble our names in a notebook and draw a heart around it and I mean that in a good way."

"I'm a mess, I don't know how to deal with people, I mess up everything I touch and everything I ever do, and—"

"Not everything. You've had your share of successes just as much as your failures. You do know people would be wondering why you even like _me_ , don't you?"

"I killed my own father." Bruce says it like he's not hearing Tony's question; he does but everything is spilling out and he can't stop it to actually listen. He can feel it as his expression twists into a smile against his will as if trying to negate what he's saying. "You know why I shouldn't let out some steam? That's why. Because I did, once, I let it get the better of me and surrendered to it and that's what happened when I did and that was way before the other guy, you know."

"From what you told me about him, and I believe you, he deserved it. Your know how impressed I am by your control, but I'm not going to judge you for slipping up _one_ time."

"The imaginary friend I told you about, I talked to him even in high school."

"He was a way of dealing with your anger. I can think of worse ways to do that. Like, for example, not trying to keep it in check at all."

"And I used to get into fights and get myself trying to protect girls just to impress them and for my own ego."

"You were a teenager. And have you seen the shit _I_ do for my own ego? That I still do for my own ego?"

"I can't bring myself trust anyone. I expect every person I meet to stab me in the back one day and I doubt everyone I meet--"

"Pretty fair, considering the life you had."

The thought of _of course you can say that if you think you're not included among these people_ and that leads him to bursting out, the Hulk rumbling at the back of his mind, "That includes you! Back when I first left, I lied to you! I was originally going to leave forever, to disappear! I got attached again and I got so scared of getting hurt and I doubted you!"

Tony looks only barely surprised, not a slightest bit of anger in his expression. "I get why. When you're used to being betrayed, no amount of convincing that you can trust someone is going to make you really believe it, right? I don't see why I should be an exception, awesome as I am."

And when Tony says that, when he instead understands instead of feeling rightly betrayed like Bruce expected, instead of proving to Bruce that he's right about how he can't have anything good in his life without destroying it with his own hands, he's so startled that the energy to argue goes out of him. He still feels the anger, the other guy, burning and bubbling somewhere deep, and starts to do what he learned and tries to breath, to focus and calm down..

When a moment of silence passes, Bruce speaks up, his voice level again. "Not trusting anyone, it was a way of surviving, you know. All my coping methods and survival tactics involve destroying and damaging myself and this, the way I am now, that's the result."

"Nobody's perfect." Tony says fondly, lightly. "I already said that I don't need you to be some kind of dreamboat. Which is not saying that I don't think you're a dreamboat, because you are. But I'm not looking for the kind of boyfriend you find in bad romance novels. I like you because you're _you,_ so all I want is for you to be yourself. And that may not sound convincing because I know a lot of people say that and don't really mean it, but I actually do, I promise."

When Bruce doesn't say anything, Tony says. "You know, Bruce, even if all those things you believe about yourself were true—even if you were that kind of irredeemable, terrible bad person, that wouldn't change how I feel about you. I would still, you know, lo," Tony makes a face and Bruce can't help smiling, "l— lo— ergh you know what I mean."

It seems only a little forced and Bruce gets the feeling Tony may be trying to cheer him up. So he laughs, because Tony made sure to tell him that it's a sound he likes hearing. "I love you too, you know."

Tony tries to roll his eyes, but Bruce can always tell when he's trying to suppress a smile. "I really do, you know, wonder just what is it about me that you even like. I don't think I ever knew someone who has as few problems with me as you do. You know... we're different, but we're similar in some ways too, and I'm a mess in my own way. So, uh, what I'm trying to say as I take advantage of this slightly actually very awkward and unfamiliar emotional bonding moment is—we're both messed up, but I think we can understand each other because of that, so that's why we can make this... thing we have work."

And Bruce can see his point. What they have is not perfect, and it's going to take time and work and patience and a lot of asking difficult questions and wrestling with your own emotions to reach the place they want it to be. But then again, they're both damaged, messed up people, riddled with piles and piles of personal problems and burdens they place upon themselves and they're never going to be normal; so that's, perhaps, only expected. And it can work, and they can make it work. They are two people who have found each other's parallel, the person so much like them in the oddest and most unlikely of places, and Bruce doesn't exactly believe in fate, but on some level it may have been meant to be this way.


End file.
